


A Husband for Your Turn

by RogueBelle



Series: Betrothal Series [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, F/M, First War with Voldemort, House of Black, Pre-Canon, Rating: PG13, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBelle/pseuds/RogueBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betrothal Series #4: Bellatrix has been ordered to be receptive to Rodolphus's proposal -- but he still wants to persuade her for himself. The ensuing conversation forces two stubborn, hot-tempered, passion-driven individuals to face up to a few things they'd far rather avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Husband for Your Turn

**Author's Note:**

> cf, as ever: My reasoning on [the Black family tree and timeline](http://alyxbradford.livejournal.com/42255.html).

Bellatrix Black couldn’t help but cause a stir when she entered a room, even on the rare occasions when she wasn’t trying to. Or perhaps, Rodolphus had to consider, it was simply that he had become particularly attuned to her presence, sensing a frisson in the air as soon as she entered the ballroom, a shift in energy that made him turn and look for the familiar head of dark curls.

He hadn’t seen her since she had split his lip a week earlier, but he had thought of her often -- and not only when applying the healing salve. It was clear at first glance that she was in the throes of a phenomenal sulk. Her posture was entirely too stiff, the lines of her face hard and sullen, lacking the usual quick impudence and teasing fervour. Orion Black, escorting her in with rather a firmer grip than seemed necessary, had the same look about him -- but then, he was rarely the languid sort. Madam Black and Narcissa, trailing behind, both had a visible wariness about them, the mother’s fidgety and darting, the sister’s still and cautious.

Her gown tonight was cloth-of-gold, catching the light of the room and hurling it back out in a defiant shimmer, and her hair was just barely caught up with gilded pins, the riotous curls in promising peril of falling loose around her shoulders. She was still beautiful; nothing short of real, ravaging tragedy would change that. It was a dimmer glory than usual, however, less scintillating. _‘Ah. No. There it is.’_ A grin crept onto Rodolphus’s face unbidden as he watched Bellatrix turning away from her father to hiss something at Narcissa, and there, in that little display of pique, he saw the flare of banked coals stirred by the wind. Whatever the impetus for her more disciplined demeanour tonight -- and Rodolphus had a fairly educated guess as to the reason -- the usual fire was not far below the surface.

 _‘No sense wasting time,’_ Rodolphus thought, glad he had not let Demetria Wilkes or one of the Eldridge girls trap him into a dance during the first set. He could only imagine how much more difficult Bellatrix would be to deal with tonight if she had witnessed that upon her arrival.

“Eager to get your lip split again?” Rabastan asked, falling into step beside him as he worked his way around the edges of the ballroom. 

“Oh, that’s not how things are going to go tonight,” Rodolphus replied, with more confidence than he truly felt. 

“You know everyone’s talking about--”

“I know. Let them.” Rodolphus had long since learnt that associating with Bellatrix was a surefire way to draw gossip to himself, but he had never been someone to care much what other people were prattling about. At the worst, if they were talking about him, it meant he’d done something worth noticing.

“Want to hear the odds laid out on your chances of success?”

“Not even slightly. Look, Rabastan, do me a favour and dance with Narcissa, would you?”

Rabastan nodded, well-accustomed by now to being shuffled off as part of a diversionary tactic. The concession was no hardship; he liked Narcissa well enough, though he had never harboured the merest smidgen of romantic or sexual interest in her. They had started school at the same time, along with her cousin Regulus, and had shared the bond of being younger siblings often outshone by their more extraverted elders. “So what exactly _is_ your plan for, ah, persuading Bellatrix?”

But they had nearly reached the Blacks by that time, and so Rodolphus just grinned over his shoulder at his brother, saying, “Luck, charm, and sheer force of will. I don’t know of anything else that’s ever had influence over her.” Rabastan considered the truth of this for a moment, then shrugged in concession. “Mr. Black,” Rodolphus said, cutting a bow when he reached the little family knot. Narcissa had been whispering to Bellatrix, presumably something intended to smooth the ruffled feathers, but broke off abruptly, blue eyes wide, when he approached. “Madam. Miss Narcissa.” From these two he received welcoming nods, and then he looked to his real target. “Miss Black.”

Oh, it was there for certain, that raging fire that both tempted and doomed him, burning volcano-hot behind the obsidian of her eyes. She was still furious with him, and no mistake. A more sensible man might have cut and run, but for Rodolphus, it only made the challenge all the more worth pursuing. “I’m very pleased to see you this evening, Mister Lestrange,” Bellatrix said, her voice as flat and emotionless as Rodolphus had ever heard it, but it was entirely a farce.

“And you are as radiant as ever, Miss Black,” he said, striving to keep the irony out of his voice. “I was hoping I could entice you to dance the next set with me.”

Aware that her father’s eyes were on her, Bellatrix could feel her cheeks flaring red as she gave Rodolphus her hand. There were two men in all the universe whom she would not dare to defy. One was near enough a god to her, and Orion Black, only marginally less divine in her esteem, was the other. The patriarch had laid down a law, and it was a line Bellatrix would not cross. Still, her rebellious soul rioted at the constriction, unaccustomed as she was to having to do anything she did not want to do, or to having to curb her emotions.

Still, nothing said she had to make things easy on him. Her father had, after all, specified an _if -- if_ Rodolphus made her the offer properly, not in idle conversation -- and he had not done so yet. _‘And might not, with adequate provocation...’_

Her obvious discomfiture, however, was entertaining Rodolphus more than anything. It was so rare to see Bellatrix chafing against the same behavioural constraints that so many of their peers felt bound by. He was acutely and not entirely inappropriately reminded of the time she had been sidelined during a Quidditch match and told that one more burst of temper (or “accidental” hex) would warrant a Slytherin forfeit. Bellatrix had practically had to cast a silencing charm on herself in order to keep from exploding in fury, and she had reined in that fit with the same glistering eyes and determined pout she had now.

She did not speak as he led her through the lines of the dance, not that he had really expected her to, and she was staring fixedly over his left shoulder, as though determined not to notice Rodolphus even though she was dancing with him. She was fulfilling her duty and clearly determined not to give an inch further than that. Sheer stubbornness Rodolphus could have handled -- had gotten well-used to handling, in fact, and seemed to be resigning himself to a lifetime of handling. Something in it was rankling at him, though, some suggestion that it was not all pique robbing her of her usual verve. There was none of the usual provocative energy in her tonight; her dancing was graceful and precise, but entirely void of that spark which made Bellatrix such a wonder. 

After a few minutes, it bothered Rodolphus enough for him to risk her temper. That, at least, would be familiar territory. “You seem unusually subdued tonight, Bella. I’m tempted to ask if you’re feeling well.”

“I am in perfectly fine health, thank you,” Bellatrix bit off.

“So I gathered. And as such, I have to attribute this heretofore unseen governance over your impulses to another source.”

She did look at him then; someone of weaker constitution might have been knocked back by the sheer venom evidence in her expression. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Lestrange. I know you’re not a _complete_ idiot, so you can’t possibly be insensible as to--”

“There!” he breathed in satisfaction. “That’s more like it. Go on, then. Vent your fury.”

Her sister might have shut down in icy disdain, might have taken the dignified route of resuming the silent treatment until she could escape from the dance. Bellatrix’s very nature denied her that option, however. Rodolphus could see the rage broiling in her. This was the look she typically got right before she hexed the living daylights out of someone -- and as such, it was an expression with which he had considerable familiarity.

“It would serve you right if I _did_ dress you down right here and now,” she hissed. “Maybe the humiliation of it would be enough to knock any ridiculous notions out of your head.”

“Ah, but that would hardly please your father, now would it?” Rodolphus pulled her in tighter, his hand firm and possessive at her waist. “He’s keeping an eye on you, you know.” Bellatrix threw a glance in her father’s direction and saw that Rodolphus was right. Orion’s eyes were following her, alert for any show of wayward behaviour. “Whatever it is that has you in such a state--”

“As though you don’t know.”

“--You might try actually talking about it with me. Communication doesn’t _have_ to happen at wand’s end all of the time.”

If it were possible, Bellatrix’s glare grew even more vicious. “Since when is that _your_ philosophy?”

In truth, Rodolphus wasn’t sure. If this was maturity, it was coming unbidden from an unexpected corner. “I am merely trying to impress upon you that, faced with certain inevitabilities, there _are_ solutions other than petulance.”

If they hadn’t been dancing, Bellatrix would’ve stamped her foot, never minding that she would have proved the point he was calling her out on. As it was, she was sorely tempted to tread on him. All aware of this, Rodolphus took care to lead her more firmly. It was almost funny, watching her war with herself -- but, too, Rodolphus knew that if he didn’t do something to diffuse her temper soon, the ultimate explosion would be cataclysmic. No amount of social pressure would keep her docile for long, but perhaps he could get her to channel that energy in another direction.

The dance ended, and since Bellatrix clearly looked ready to bolt, Rodolphus closed his fingers around her wrist, keeping his other hand firmly planted at her waist. Bellatrix attempted to jerk her hand away from him, but he held it fast. “Lestrange, I swear on Salazar’s stones, if you don’t--”

“The hell with this,” he said, glancing around the crowded room and realizing he was never going to be able to finesse her cooperation with so many eyes on them. “Come on. We’re going outside.”

Predictably recalcitrant, Bellatrix pulled away from him even as he pressed at the small of her back, trying to guide her towards the enormous double doors. “Why?”

“So that we can, perhaps, have a bit of civilised conversation, and then, gods willing, I might be able to debauch you beneath a trellis.”

The blunt admission of his goals startled Bellatrix into temporary complacence, and Rodolphus was able to pull her away from the crush and out into the Rosiers’ expansive back gardens. It was familiar territory for them both, no strangers to slipping away from parties for private indulgences, and it took Rodolphus only a moment to find a secluded alcove with a long stone bench. Their departure from the ballroom had not been particularly stealthy, and so Rodolphus just had to hope that, had Orion Black borne witness to it, he would interpret the action as a necessary one and not look to interfere. All-but-betrothed to his daughter or not, Rodolphus didn’t fancy being caught either mid-spat or mid-anything-else by the head of the House of Black.

Bellatrix stood with her spine utterly rigid, but the fingers of her left hand were drumming restlessly against her hip. She wanted to be twirling her wand, Rodolphus could see that, but he guessed that she didn’t trust herself to have it in hand without succumbing to the temptation to curse him. He wondered if it was tucked away in a hidden pocket, or perhaps strapped into her garter. 

As Rodolphus had surmised would be the case, Bella could only hold her tongue for so long once out of public view. “I assume this is about you asking to marry me,” she said, and then, without affording him the opportunity to reply, barrelled on, “Actually, I don’t remember being _asked_. I remember being informed of what you wanted and expected, therefore, to have.”

Completely unrepentant, Rodolphus could only shrug. “I’ve always found that the best way to get what I want, as you should well know, since it’s been your method of operation for as long as I’ve known you.”

Scowling, Bella settled her hands on her hips. “Well, in this case, what _you_ want and what _I_ want seem to be in direct conflict.”

“Perhaps they are,” Rodolphus said, “though they need not remain so. But, Bellatrix, if they do, this is one conflict you are going to lose.” 

Bellatrix curled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging painfully into her palms. The worst part of it was that she knew he was right, and that was what was so maddeningly unfair -- that she, who had gone through life denied nothing, free to act as she pleased, was being curbed so violently now. Like a horse never broken to the bit, she found the sudden application of discipline entirely unendurable -- and as a natural bully herself, she could not tolerate being pushed around by anyone else.

Rodolphus knew that the best way to deal with Bellatrix was to remain cool and composed no matter how implacable her ire. The times he lost fights with her were the times he allowed her to stoke his temper, as hot-burning as hers if on a somewhat longer fuse, into an explosion. And so he sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him. It gave her the advantage of height, true, but there was a power in nonchalance that he intended to own. “As I understand it, you’re under orders from your father to be--”

“Receptive?” Bella finished. “Yes, I am.” Rodolphus nodded; that was, if prickling to his pride, not entirely unexpected. “So what does it matter? Why go through this... this ordeal, pretending you actually have to win my approval?”

“I don’t want you because your father ordered you to have me,” he said. “I mean, don’t mistake me, I’ll take you that way, but I’d far prefer that you come to the conclusion on your own.”

“It’s our fathers who made the arrangement,” Bella said.

Rodolphus laughed lightly, and the incongruous sound made Bella’s eyes flare wide. “Our fathers, indeed,” he said. “You’d be surprised. My father thought I was mad when I broached the idea with him.”

“You brought it up to him?” she asked, surprised.

“Not exactly. But my father asked me the question, and... you were the answer.” He remembered the conversation vividly, standing in Robur Lestrange’s office, fully intending to give some other name and then blurting out ‘Bellatrix Black.’ It had startled him nearly as much as his father. “He tried to dissuade me, at first.”

“Thought you were aiming too high?”

That had been part of it, but Rodolphus would be damned if he would tell Bellatrix that and supply her with something to fling back at him later. The Lestranges had been clawing their way back up the financial and social ladders after a rather disastrous nineteenth century, and Robur had made a fine job of it, restoring the coffers to manageable levels as well as getting them in with the right sort of people -- but a daughter of the House of Black was a lofty mark for anyone, and Robur had been concerned that his son was overreaching. All that Rodolphus said to Bella, however, was, “He had some concerns about how well we will suit. I think he anticipated me choosing a more... conventional bride.”

Bellatrix pursed her lips. She knew that when Mamas pushed their matrimonially-fearful sons in her direction, it was with her name and her dowry in mind, not her personality. She knew they questioned her virtue, shook their heads at the way she dressed, flaunting every asset she had, and lamented her willful disregard for moderate behaviour. None of that had ever bothered her in the slightest. Someone of her status didn’t stoop to fretting over what a bunch of puckered hens thought of her. So why did it nettle that Robur Lestrange would have thought her in any way unsuitable for his son?

“Perhaps he’s right,” she said, sloughing off the uncomfortable thought of any perceived deficiency. “I think most people would look at us and agree that we don’t suit at all. Perhaps your father’s right, and you should set your sights elsewhere.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Rodolphus said. “More than once.”

“You took such care to point that out to me many times during our school days.” Bella felt the heat of anger stoking in her again, remembering how often he had used delicate Demetria Wilkes or the abnormally sweet-tempered Elyse Eldridge to incite her jealousy, and not much had changed since they had left Hogwarts. After every spat, however private or public, Rodolphus tended to show up at the next society function with a far more properly behaved girl on his arm. At this moment, Bellatrix chose not to remember that she gave as good as she got, frequently punishing Rodolphus with the preferment of Augustus Greengrass or Philip Holgrave or Elyse’s goldenly handsome brother Raphael. “So what has changed?”

“I realised I wanted something different,” he said. And he had. Being forced to consider marriage made him look at his own parents’ union more closely, and he had realised, much to his own astonishment, that he did not want a wife he could treat as carelessly as his father treated his mother. He did not want a wife he could ignore. That admission, however, was not something he could yet voice to her, and so he chose the safer route. “You and I share goals, Bellatrix.” His eyes flicked meaningfully down at his own left forearm, then at hers. “We share not just values, but the will and the drive to do something about them.”

“Well, that might explain your choice, but I hardly see it as conferring obligation on my part,” Bellatrix said. “The same is true for at least half a dozen other suitable men. You’re hardly the only one among us to share my values and be willing to take up your wand for the cause.”

“And how many of those other ‘suitable men’ would joy in a wife who does the same?” 

“Plenty of them.”

Rodolphus snorted. “Unlikely.”

“You think so? I _know_ those men.” 

“As do I.”

Bellatrix settled her hands on her hips, giving her raven curls a haughty shake. “They admire me for my strength and my conviction.”

“Yes,” Rodolphus agreed. “They do. Those are very fine qualities -- in another man’s wife. For their own, they’re going to choose women like Narcissa.” 

“Not all of them,” Bellatrix refuted, and then she laughed, sharp and ringing. “I’ve had other proposals. You know that.”

“I do. I rather vividly recall commiserating with Sidney when I saw what you did to him after the last one.” He stood, taking an aggressive step towards her. “But do you know what they’re left with, once the pain and disappointment and the shame of rejection fade away? Relief.” 

“Shows what you know,” Bellatrix said. “Raphael Eldridge has tried three times, John’s still mad for me, and even--”

“ _Relief_ , Bella! Relief because they made the attempt, got what they must have expected, deep down, and can now pick someone more suitable, more manageable, with no dishonour to themselves. The Black Rose pricks a little more blood, and no one is surprised.” He knew his own tone was turning vicious, that he was losing his careful governance, but being compared to Bella’s other suitors heated Rodolphus’s temper every bit as much as being likened to other women did Bella’s. “Every other man in there,” Rodolphus asserted, jabbing a finger up towards the glowing lights from the ballroom, “the ones that didn’t come to despise you, they would give up on you, sooner or later. Our political activities don’t figure into that. Even if they allowed it, even if they approved, they still wouldn’t be able to handle you. You would wear them out, and they’d just stop trying to have any sort of influence on you at all.”

“And why shouldn’t I want that?” Bella challenged. “I think a husband who would stay out of my way sounds ideal.”

“You don’t, really,” Rodolphus answered, catching her around the waist with one arm. His other hand stole up, twisting one of her dark curls around his finger. “You’re just saying that because you think it sounds shocking and independent.” Before she could supply a tart retort to that, his fingers slipped into the wealth of curls at the back of her head and gave a sharp tug; Bella couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through her at that, infuriating and intoxicating at the same time. “It would be such a shame if you married a man like that, Bella. You’d get so bored. You’d burn through him inside of a year. Marry me...” His lips drifted down, skimming over her neck. “...and I promise never to stop challenging you.”

It would have been so easy to capitulate then, with his hands and lips tracing familiar paths over her skin. Bella clutched briefly at his lapels, but then she stiffened her arms, pressing back from him. “Stop that, Rodolphus. You’re not going to earn your way to this through a tumble.”

Rodolphus gave her a slow grin. “Why not? It’s generally our best method of sorting things out.”

Bellatrix ignored that. “Why _do_ you want to marry me, truly?” she challenged him. “Not the political reasons. You’d as well take Magda or Isoldt if that were the case. And don’t say what you think I want to hear. If it’s for my family and my money, just say that. If I must head into this against my will, I should at least like to do so with precise and correct information.”

Despite the fact that she had been softening in his arms just seconds earlier, her eyes now looked as hard and as fierce as he had ever seen them. Rodolphus had the impression that, though she asked for truth, a wrong answer would still earn him considerable bruising, at the very least. He considered lying; he wouldn’t have been himself if he hadn’t. But, just as it had in his father’s study, the truth perversely insisted on its own way. He released her, turning away slightly and running a hand through his hair. “It’s the damnedest thing, really,” Rodolphus said, and he did look more than a little annoyed at himself for it, “but I find I just can’t... _stomach_ the idea of having anyone else as a wife.”

Bella’s face screwed up slightly in confusion, and Rodolphus didn’t blame her for that. It was an odd response, and he knew it.

“I didn’t decide this on a whim,” he said, “and, as you yourself have noted, I did consider... alternatives.” She scowled, as he expected she would. It was one of the most infuriating contradictions in her character, that even as she asserted she wanted nothing to do with a man, she still could not tolerate the idea of him pursuing anyone else. “I would, no doubt, have a much easier life with one of the women my father expected me to choose. Quiet and peaceful. But with you...” He didn’t know how to put it into words, unaccustomed to sentiment and such naked honesty.

“With me, what?” she asked.

He looked up at her, and there was a strange rawness in his gaze that Bella felt quite certain she’d never seen before. For all their lightning-kindled passion, they were still always so careful with each other, in a way. Shields and hackles were ever raised. Each despised nothing so much as weakness, and they were most unforgiving of it in themselves.

That had always been the way, between them. From the moment they had met, as children, they had seemed destined to provoke each other. Their interactions were ever coloured with a keen wariness, a refusal to expose any vulnerability. The instinct for cruelty had shown early in Bellatrix, and, harboring it himself, Rodolphus had sensed it in her, even when they were young. The only natural response had been to pre-empt the harm she could do by striking first. So it had begun, and so it had continued, all these years now, nettling each other, inflicting casual wounds, and never letting the blood show.

But there were other moments, too, though sometimes it was difficult to remember them, in the middle of all the storms. Moments when they demonstrated an uncanny ability to work in seamless synchronicity. Moments when the conversation was so easy, so sparkling. Moments when that sly sense of humour of his made her laugh like almost no one else could.

Bellatrix was too stubborn, too proud to engage in much introspection, and Rodolphus was only marginally more reflective, and so neither of them had, till now, consciously considered their relationship in light of these dynamics. The thought flickered through Bella’s head, almost too quick to grasp hold of, that this mutual understanding, the awareness of each other’s dangers, might be just the thing, in some backwards way, that could assure them success. 

For Rodolphus, it was a realisation that if this was ever going to work, if he were ever to get what he wanted out of her, it might take this sacrifice first. If he wanted her for a wife -- and he did, by whatever half-cursed hand guided his fortunes -- then they could not remain forever as they had been, circling each other like starving beasts.

He sighed, drawing near to her again. “Cards on the table, Bellatrix? Then here it is: I want to marry you because I think we have a real chance at something great, you and I. With another woman, I could have a perfectly fine marriage, no doubt. But with you, there could be something really glorious.” He held her gaze, difficult though it was to speak so frankly while staring into that merciless obsidian. “You _hunger_ as I do, Bella. You want so fiercely. Your ambition is not petty and normal, it is _ravenous_ , and that is a thing worthy of admiration.” He might have said he adored her for it, but he had no words to shape that thought, no more than she had ears able to hear it. “And you and I both know what it is to have something to prove. So why not prove it together?” One hand, moving almost of its own accord, touched her shoulder, stroked down her arm. “Yoke together our strengths and take on all comers.”

Bella released a breath she had not been aware she was holding. Men had written her poetry, spoken of worship and devotion, made all sorts of romantic vows, but nothing had stirred her soul like this vision of a shared future from Rodolphus Lestrange. Was he right? Was there something between the two of them that would be missing, should either make another choice? “You sound so sure.” Bellatrix, for once in her life, wasn’t.

“We have the chance to do something truly great, Bella,” Rodolphus said, his hand tightening around her upper arm. “What a pair we make. We can take this world apart and put it back together by our own design.”

It was a powerful persuasion, drawing upon her greatest aim in life. And if he was a man capable of sharing that vision with her, was he a man capable of sharing its realisation? 

“I am the husband for you, _mia Bella_ ,” he continued, low and compelling, “because I see you. I know you. And for all that you are arrogant, combative, and often downright infuriating...” He drew one hand up to his lips and kissed the palm. “You are extraordinary. And no one else -- no one _less_ \-- will do. So. What do you say?”

Bellatrix frowned slightly as she scrutinized him. If this was the moment, the one moment she had in which to choose, then she wanted to take it to consider all that he was. Rodolphus Lestrange: a childhood friend and rival, a suitor and a competitor. A teammate, at times. More recently, a partner, one of few who could keep pace with her when it came to courting mayhem and destruction in the name of their cause.

She threaded a fallen lock of his hair between her thumb and forefinger. His hair was near as dark as hers, though not quite -- bistre, not sable. He did cut a fine figure, too, perhaps not as traditionally handsome as some of her suitors, but tall and broad-shouldered. More important than mere comeliness, he gave off an aura of strength, of solidness -- and that, Bella knew to value far more than a merely attractive face. 

There were reasons not to marry Rodolphus. It would not be the easiest choice, by far, not the choice to make if she wanted to have her own way all the time, if she wanted unquestioned dominion. But looking at him then, Bella found herself considering the advantages of the match more than the potential detractions. They would have passion, and they would have power, and Bellatrix could not think of any finer incentives. 

She met his eyes, and she realised he had been searching her as intently as she had been him -- though what he was looking for in return, she could not guess. She blinked once, decisively, then gave a single sharp nod. “Alright, then.”

His eyebrows arched. “Is that an acceptance of my proposal?”

She smirked. “Ask me properly.”

“I’m not going down on one knee, if that’s what you intend,” he said, his lips quirking a smile in response to hers. 

“No,” she said, her hips swaying closer to his, the familiar teasing light coming into her eyes. “But you still have to ask me properly.”

He brushed her hair back from her face, then let his fingers trace along her jawline. “Bellatrix Black...” His kissed her, once, and though it was light, there was nothing sweet or delicate about it; she could feel him smiling against her lips, provoking, challenging, as always. “Would you do me the great honor...” Another kiss, more lingering, more insistent. “Of becoming my wife?” He dropped his forehead to hers, and Bellatrix could see the earnestness still lingering in his eyes, though he had let it drop from his voice.

“Yes, Rodolphus Lestrange,” she said, “I believe I will.”

“About bloody time.” Before she could raise a protest to that, his lips captured hers fully, and she gave herself over to the glory of it, feeling her pulse quicken in response to him.

Soon, his hands had slipped around to her back, plucking at the fastenings of her dress. “Rodolphus,” she murmured, though making no move to stop him, “what are you doing?”

“We talked,” he said, kissing a line down her throat. “Now I get to debauch you.”

She laughed, and he felt the rumble of it vibrating in her throat. “You really think there’s much left to debauch?”

“Oh, _mia Bella_ , my joy, my star,” Rodolphus said, sliding her gown off of her shoulders, letting the golden fabric bunch around her waist. “If I ever run out of ways to debauch you, you may begin digging my grave.”

Bella gave a snorting laugh, her fingers tugging at his jacket. “Careful. You’ve just afforded me a lifetime’s worth of opportunities to put you in it.”

 

_”I am a husband for your turn,_  
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,  
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,  
Thou must be married to no man but me”  
\--William Shakespeare, ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please check out [my blog](http://cassmorriswrites.com)! I also write original fiction, and my debut novel will be out January 2018.


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